Willing Sacrifice
by Saelihn
Summary: Young Sam Winchester screws up on his very first hunt. Left behind in a safe room by his father and brother, he isn't so safe as they think. Being a sacrifice to a god, isn't a safe thing now, is it?


Hello everyone, I just want to mention that I don't own anything, aside of my ideas. And I want to thank the lovely beta Ermine aka tree for helping me improve my story.

Enjoy

**Willing Sacrifice**

Sam knew he had screwed up. Guilt twisted in his stomach. Their last hunt had almost ended up being fatal for all of them—because of him.

The hunt had looked like an easy one. That's why his father had decided that it would be a good opportunity for his youngest son to prove that all the training had been worth his time.

_Sam sat on top of the little girl who now contained a demon. She couldn't have been more than six, and he sat there with a knife on her throat. When he looked into her eyes, all he saw was sadness and pain. Eyes that had seen too much. He knew what they looked like; he saw them every day in the mirror. _

"_Kill her, Sam!" his father yelled at him. _

_Sam hesitated._ _She was only a little girl. She didn't deserve this. Killing her would be wrong. It wasn't his place to decide who lived and who died_—_it wasn't his call to make._

_He looked at his brother, wordlessly asking for help, but his father stepped in front of Dean and Sam's silent plea was broken off. _

"_Damnit, Sam, do it!" _

_Before Sam could decide what to do, the demon had pushed him off of her with such a force that Sam couldn't get his footing. His left ankle cracked loudly in the otherwise silent room, and Sam cried out from the sharp pain. He could hear Dean's voice in the background, scared for his little brother. His father, however, wasn't so worried and held Dean back from helping Sam. _

"_Kill her, Sam! You still have the knife." _

_And Sam noticed that he did indeed still have the knife in his hands. Guess that training of 'never let go of your weapon' had sunk in. _

_Pushing against the pain, he looked up to see where the demon was. _

_But it was too late._

_A force pushed him back to the ground, and within seconds the little girl sat on top of him, holding his own knife to his throat. He hadn't even noticed her take it from him._

_Then he felt the weight of the girl lift from him. One inhuman screech and a flash of light had the girl dead on the ground and the demon back to hell. His father cursed as he wiped the knife._

_Sam looked up to his father, wanting to thank him for saving his life. But one look at his father's face made him decide otherwise. The man was angry_—_very angry and very disappointed. _

"_Dean, help your brother. We're going back to the motel." _

_And his father left the room. _

_Dean came over to help Sam up. "You did good, Sammy." _

_Sam sighed sadly. "No, Dean, I screwed up. I don't know how I'll fix this. I don't want to face him right now."_

"_Don't worry, Sam. I'm sure he won't be too angry."_

"_He will be angry. This was my first hunt and I screwed up. I'm twelve now and I can't even do what you could when you were eight. Yeah, he's going to be angry."_

_Dean didn't comment, but helped his brother back into the car. _

_They got back to the motel late in the evening. Sam had hoped that no one would see their return, but no such luck. As they were crossing the parking lot, the motel-owner came outside to lock everything up. _

_Sam looked away. He felt like there was a big neon sign above his head proclaiming "failure." _

_The man was looking a little bit too curiously in their direction. Sam could see his father reaching for his gun. But then the man turned away, and with no further interruption, they were back in their room. _

The next day Sam was sitting on top of one of the two beds with his head held low. His father stood in front of him.

"Me and Dean'll go on another hunt today. You screwed yours up, Sam, and until I'm sure that you'll finish the job right, you won't be joining us."

Nothing more was said. Still looking down at the floor, Sam could hear his father and brother leave the room.

He knew he screwed up, but was he really supposed to be able to kill a little girl in cold blood? Especially when he was only twelve? He knew in his heart that he wasn't supposed to kill or murder. No matter what.

Sam sighed. As far back as he could remember, he had never once pleased his father with something. He screwed up everything his father asked him to do. As always, he was many steps behind his brother and unable to catch up.

Carefully he walked over to the bedside table and retrieved the Bible that was there. He would have liked to have his own, but knowing his father, it would only end up as kindling.

Holding the book in his hands, he kneeled down on the floor. And Sam started praying. Asking God to be forgiving and guiding. Asking for a way to do better or a way to change. Asking forgiveness for the death of the little girl.

It all came out in his prayer: his fear and insecurities, his self-loathing and his doubt.

Sam didn't just ask things from God—he knew that it didn't work that way. It wasn't as if every time you asked something from God, he would just give it to you. It wasn't 'Ask and you shall receive,' though he knew that most people prayed only when they needed something.

Sam wasn't like that, so he ended his prayer with gratitude. He thanked God for the loving brother he had, for the fact that even if his father was a bastard, he was still there. He gave thanks for still being alive and healthy, he gave thanks for everything that was good in his life.

Sam tried not to think about how short this thanking-list was.

After finishing his prayer, he put the Bible back where he had found it. It would be better if his father didn't know about his prayers.

Sam was exhausted. This day and the last had been too emotional. Knowing that the room was warded against demons and the door was locked, he crawled into the bed to take a nap. He fell asleep as soon as his head touched the pillow, unaware that there might be more evil in this town than only demons.

It was around three in the afternoon when Sam woke up to the sound of a key turning in the lock. Assuming it was either his father or his brother, he didn't react and didn't bother turning around to say hello.

Suddenly, someone pressed a cloth over his face. And with a sweet smell filling his nostrils, he fell back into darkness.

When he woke up, he had a full view of the night sky. He must have been out of it for several hours, he realized.

Still drowsy from the drugs, he tried to figure out where he was. Turning his head a little, he could see a forest. Shifting his body a little, he could feel stone beneath him. Was he laying on a rock?

He tried to get his arms behind himself so he could push himself up to see, but there was something stopping him. Turning his head upwards, he could see shackles around his wrists. When he bent his knees, he felt them around his right ankle too. The left one was still free—it must have been obvious that he wouldn't be able to use that foot for anything.

He could, however, raise his head, and he studied his surroundings. The stone he was tied upon was perfectly flat and rectangular. Around him was a circle of torches. They gave just enough light for him to see strange markings on the edge of the stone.

Sam was somewhere in a forest and tied to an altar. This was not good. Would his family even know he was missing yet? Would they be able to find him? Would they even bother looking for him?

He wondered if he could get out of here himself. Probably not. It would be easy to escape if it were ropes, but real iron shackles, wound tight around his limbs? Not so much.

Suddenly, his attention was drawn to a group of hooded people that were walking into the clearing where he lay. They were chanting something in what sounded like a northern-European language. Sam couldn't understand it, but he did know that it wasn't good news.

He figured that he was likely going to be a sacrifice. But to whom? Or to what? A demon probably.

Sam let his head fall back against the stone. He knew that he should be panicking by now, but to be honest, he just didn't care. His life was shit and he didn't feel much like continuing it. And if ending it meant that he would be a willing sacrifice, then so be it.

He lay there listening to the chanting. It was relaxing, in a way; it didn't sound evil, just mysterious. When the chanting became louder, Sam could feel an energy growing nearby. Whatever they were calling out to, it was coming.

Sam thought he felt something brush against his face—something soft, like a feather. But he was sure he imagined that.

Then he saw a man step out of the forest. He was rather short and had a friendly face, even though it was frowning. And he had the warmest golden-brown eyes Sam had ever seen, even though they were now filled with an icy look. That man was not happy.

Silence fell around him, and Sam saw all the other people in the clearing drop to their knees and bow their heads—except one man, who Sam assumed to be the leader.

The man stepped up in front of Sam, bowed quickly, and took off his hood. "My lord Loki," he greeted.

Sam knew that voice. He took a closer look at the man standing there, and Sam soon realized who it was. The motel-owner. Somehow it didn't really surprise him much.

Then the man's words came through._ Loki?_ Sam asked himself silently. Then it dawned on him—the Norse god Loki.

He was going to be sacrificed to a god he didn't even pray to? Sam sighed to himself. He would even fail at dying a good death. Staying relaxed, he calmly looked towards the god.

Loki was completely focused on the leader standing now before him. "You called?" he asked, his voice clear of any emotion.

The leader shivered at the tone. "Yes, my lord. We have prepared a sacrifice for you in exchange for your protection." The leader gestured vaguely in Sam's direction.

"Yes, I can see that." Loki walked around the leader, ignoring him completely. His eyes widened a little when he could clearly see Sam.

"A child?" Loki turned back towards the leader abruptly. "You want to sacrifice a child to me?" Anger burned clear in his voice.

The leader cowered. "Yes? My lord?" he more asked than stated.

"Do you not know that I am a protector of children?" Loki sneered down at the man. The whimper that came from the leader indicated that he did not, in fact, know that. Loki turned back towards Sam, ignoring the cowering man for now.

Sam stayed quiet when the god sat down beside him. The god had a very calming and warm aura hanging around him. He was not afraid, even if his life would end very soon.

Loki wasn't entirely sure what had just happened. He knew these people weren't the brightest. It clearly showed in how they worshipped him—worshipped Loki, a god that didn't even exist.

Instead they were unknowingly devoted to an Archangel, and even if he had put his heavenly duties aside for a while, Gabriel was always amazed at the humans' ability to believe he was a Pagan god.

So they might not know all the details. But sacrificing a child? That was wrong on so many levels.

Gabriel looked down at the boy. He thought it strange that a child would stay so calm, even when he knew that death was near for him.

"What is your name, boy?"

"Samuel Winchester," he whispered, his throat dry from disuse.

Gabriel's eyes widened slightly, but otherwise he didn't react aside from removing the chains and giving Sam a glass of water. He noticed the injured ankle, but it would do no good to heal it now. He could, however, take away the pain.

Sam whispered his thanks and sipped the water.

Gabriel was furious. Here in front of him was one of the fated vessels for his brothers, and the boy didn't even seem to care that he was about to be sacrificed. As if it didn't matter whether he lived or died.

And the boy's soul. Oh, it was so bright, so beautiful. Gabriel couldn't imagine that this boy could be the vessel for something as evil as Lucifer.

_Oh, Gabriel, what are you going to do with this kid?_ he asked himself.

He looked sideways to the boy who now sat beside him with his head down. Then he let his eyes fall to the still-kneeling cultists who had summoned him here. This was one big mess, and Gabriel had to resist the urge to sigh very loudly.

Sam was surprisingly still and quiet. Gabriel didn't understand—why was the boy so passive? Unable to ignore his own curiosity, he raised two fingers to the boy's forehead. Sam didn't move.

Once he made contact, Gabriel could see and hear what was going on in that head, and what he saw disgusted him. Here was a boy loyal to his own father, but even more so to Gabriel's. All his life that boy had only known the love of his brother, but that wasn't enough. All his life he'd been put down and pushed away.

Gabriel understood now—the boy just didn't have the will to go on.

He reached out and pulled Sam close to him in a sideways hug. "It'll be alright. I'm here for you," he whispered, and he could feel the boy relax into his side.

Keeping a hold on Sam, he turned his attention back towards the cult leader. "Get up and come here."

His voice was still calm, but the ice in it had the necessary effect. All the cultists shrank back from him, but stayed where they were, still kneeling. The leader shivered violently, but did come closer.

Sam's reaction, however, was more interesting. The boy didn't respond to Gabriel's anger in the way he had expected. Sam didn't shrink back—no, he actually burrowed himself deeper into Gabriel's embrace, as if he felt that the god beside him truly did not mean to harm him. He could clearly tell that the anger was not focused on him.

Gabriel would have smiled at Sam if it wouldn't have ruined the entire act he was putting on. Instead, his eyes stayed focused on the leader who now stood in front of him.

"Kneel," he commanded.

The cult leader knelt in front of the altar, shivers still wracking his body.

"You usually offer animals to me; why now this boy?"

"We need a bigger favor than we do other times, my lord. People came and started building a church in our town. They're trying to turn us all away from you. And we thought—"

"You thought wrong! All children fall under my protection. As a true worshiper, you should have known that."

The cult leader shrank back into himself.

"Answer me: why this boy?"

"We thought it would please you, my lord."

Gabriel didn't answer—he had done that already—and tightened his hold on Sam. These stupid, stupid humans. This young boy that had such a big destiny in front of him, and here these silly people were, thinking they could offer him to a god as a human sacrifice.

Then he spoke again. "Well, this just won't do. I'll deal with you idiots later."

They all seemed to move back a little, yet they remained in their spots. Gabriel found it funny how clearly they wanted to get away from the god they so devoutly worshipped.

But now he needed a private talk with Sam, and they didn't need to listen in. Raising his hand got more flinches out of all the cultists. But Gabriel simply snapped his fingers and all the people around them turned to stone.

Coaching Sam out of his embrace took a little time. Sam had managed to attach himself firmly to Gabriel's side. Not that the Archangel really minded, but it wasn't a great position for talking.

"Come on, Sam, let go a little. I promise I won't disappear on you."

Sam looked up at him. "Promise?"

Gabriel nodded.

"Okay." And Sam let go. He sat down besides Gabriel and kept a firm grip on the angel's pants.

"Do you know who I am, Sam?"

"The Norse god Loki, sir. God of mischief, chaos and lies. And apparently protector of the children."

"Ah, good, so you were listening. There are many things I would like to tell you, but I cannot at this time. It is forbidden. There _is_ one thing I can help you with, though. But first you will answer a question for me."

"Yes, sir."

"Why didn't you struggle against them, or even against me? Did they not make it clear that you were going to die?"

"Yes, sir, they did make it clear. I just …" _Wanted it all to be over with_, Sam finished in his mind, as he tried to find something better to say to Loki.

But Gabriel could read his mind loud and clear. "You want it all to be over? Oh, Sam, you still have so much to live for."

Sam shook his head. "Not really, sir. I just keep screwing up everything I'm supposed to do."

"You may not see it right now, but there will be a time when you're happy. And I can help you a little to get there."

"Can you really, sir?" Disbelief clouded his voice.

"Yes, I can. You see, your father and brother are only ten minutes away and they will find us soon."

Sam actually looked sad at that. If his family showed up, then the nice god would probably leave to avoid being hunted. "They'll think I screwed up again by getting kidnapped. I don't see how you can help there, sir."

"Oh, I can, Sammy, because you will have killed everyone in this clearing by then—and that includes me."

"You, but... no, I can't do that, sir."

Gabriel could see the horror in the boy's eyes. It saddened him that he had to get this pure soul to kill another human being. But it was necessary.

"I can't die from anything you could do to me. But I will fake it and your father will trust in your abilities more."

"I can't, sir. They're just people, and they might not be the nicest, but I don't think they're evil either. It's not my place to decide who lives and who dies."

"Ah, but I'm a god, Sam. I can make that decision; you will just make it happen. Do you not want to please me?" Gabriel felt bad about saying that. Playing Sam's submissive nature and his need to please those above him was plain cruel. But it had to be done; it would make Sam's life a lot easier in the near future.

"Yes, sir. I will do as you ask." Sam looked down, already feeling the guilt.

Gabriel jumped down of the table and knelt in front of Sam. "Sammy, look at me." When Sam's eyes found his, he continued, "The life you're being pushed into is hard. It's cruel. And you may find it hard to believe, but you can be good at this. Don't measure yourself against your brother—it isn't fair to you. And don't let anyone tell you that you're not good enough. Because you are. The God you believe in has created you this way, and you are perfect just as you are."

Gabriel paused to look at the tiny smile Sam now wore. He was glad the boy didn't comment or ask questions about the whole God and god thing.

"But I do need you to kill those people, Sam. You need to know what it feels to take a life or you won't be able to do it out there either. And your father is quick to lose trust. You cannot hesitate to kill anymore."

"But, sir—"

"No, Sam. The things that you hunt are evil—most of them are demons possessing humans. You can set the trapped souls free, Sam. They deserve that. Think of all the people you'll save by hunting the supernatural. It is necessary."

Gabriel didn't want to do this, but he took the knife of the cult leader and placed it into Sam's hands. Sam gripped the knife firmly, the hold already practiced to perfection.

"I will turn these people back into flesh and bones so you may kill them. They will not be able to move. Do it quickly." And with a snap of his fingers, he did just that.

"Sir, I—"

"You must do it now, Sam," Gabriel said firmly. They didn't have much time left.

Sam finally did as he was told, as quickly as he could. While limping on one foot, he sliced the throats of all those around them. Tears poured down his face; guilt was already building up.

When he was done, he moved back towards Gabriel and offered him the knife. Gabriel didn't accept it.

"You will need that knife to kill me too," he told the boy.

"What?" Sam asked horrified. "No!"

"You must do it. It will not kill me, but I will appear to be dead. Your family is very close by, Sam. When your father sees what you were capable of, he will not doubt you again. It has to be done, Sammy."

Sam still did not look convinced and his hands were shaking so hard that Gabriel thought he would drop the knife.

Thinking it couldn't be helped, he pulled the boy in a hug, manipulating time just a bit so that the boy would have the time to come to his senses.

Sam broke down.

"Oh, dear boy." Gabriel sighed and pulled Sam completely onto his lap. It took Sam quite a few minutes to stop crying, but Gabriel kept hold of him, whispering comforting words into his ears.

When Sam had composed himself, though barely, he pulled back from Gabriel's tight hold so he could look the god in his face. Gabriel smiled warmly at him and Sam felt the guilt ebbing away.

Sam couldn't believe that a god could be this nice, this friendly, toward someone who didn't even pray to him.

"Feeling better now?" Gabriel asked the boy softly.

"Yes, sir, it's just…" Sam trailed off. Was it really his place to question a god?

"Ask your questions, Sam. I will not smite you for it." Laughter tinted Gabriel's voice. Sam could be very cute, he decided, when he noticed the boy looking up at him uncertainly with big eyes while biting his lip.

"Why did you help me?" the boy asked, before realizing it might sound rude and disrespectful that way. "I mean—"

He didn't get to ramble on because the god in front of him put his hand over his mouth. "Silly boy. You've said it yourself: I'm a protector of children."

Sam pulled the god's hand down. "But I'm not of your religion," he argued. A little voice in the back of his head telling him to shut up, that this was a god and he wasn't to be questioned.

"I protect all children as much as I can, Sam."

"But I don't even believe in you." His eyes widened comically when he blurted that out. Trying to save himself, he continued. "I—uhm. I mean, I obviously believe in you now, with you being here, but I meant that—"

"Sam, stop talking for a second," Gabriel cut him off. The boy would only talk himself deeper and deeper into trouble that didn't even exist. He was in no danger from him.

"I know it's confusing to you that the other gods you might have read myths about exist. But it is God, our Father, that has created all. Even us Asgardian gods. We have existed on this planet for a long time and we help where we can. But our worshippers have mostly died out or converted to another religion. It doesn't matter—in the end, it is God that rules all."

Gabriel took a deep breath. He didn't have time to explain the entire heavenly system, including the lesser gods, right now. "I'm sorry, Sam, but I cannot explain this any longer. Your father and brother are very near and it is time. I promise you that it will all be clear for you one day."

"Yes, sir," Sam mumbled, a little bit disappointed that he didn't get the undoubtedly interesting history lesson. It sounded like a fascinating topic, and this god beside him seemed very knowledgeable.

Pushing Sam off his lap, Gabriel stood up. He looked around briefly and noticed a branch that could serve him well. Picking it up, he changed it into a makeshift stake and handed it to the boy.

"Your father has run into a lesser god before. He knows the only way to kill us is to stab a wooden stake through our heart. Cut my throat and then push it through my heart, Sam. I promise it will not kill me."

"But, sir, I—"

Gabriel hushed the boy. "All will be forgiven, Sam. I forgive you. Finish the job and leave with a heart clear of guilt." Gabriel gently placed a kiss on the boy's forehead.

Sam could feel the warmth consuming him. He felt courage despite his fear. He felt light and, for once, he did not feel guilty at the thought of killing someone.

"Now, Sam," Gabriel urged.

Sam looked up to the god in front of him, his eyes determined. He would not disappoint him. Not after all he had done for him.

Getting a good grip on the knife, he jumped up and slashed at Loki's throat. Sam could see the man's eyes widen as if surprised at the sudden move. But he took no notice, and he would not stop until his job was done. He had promised.

Gabriel fell down against the top of the altar. The boy had sliced his throat deep and it would have killed anyone mortal almost instantly. He held himself still, despite his instincts to fight off the danger. It wouldn't do well to act out now.

Sam dropped the knife and took hold of the wooden stake with both hands. With a mighty shove, he pushed it into the god's chest where his heart would be.

Sadness overwhelmed him when he saw the light in Loki's eyes die. He could no longer feel the pleasant warmth the god had radiated. And only now he noticed his ankle hurting. Had the god kept away the pain?

"Sam!"

The yell came from his left and Sam quickly turned to see his father and his brother run up to him. And then he was promptly pulled into a hug—surprisingly, by his father.

"Oh, Sam, you nearly gave us a heart attack by disappearing." For once Sam could hear the concern and worry in his father's voice and it warmed him on the inside. His father did care for him.

When he was released from his father's hold, he was quickly pulled into another hug by Dean. "Sammy, I was so worried about you."

They released each other when they heard their father gasp. They turned towards the open clearing to see him standing beside the altar, surrounded by dead bodies.

"You killed a god?" his father asked him in disbelief.

Sam looked down. It was a feat too big for him, and his father would never believe it. "Yes, father," he mumbled.

"Well done, son." Sam looked up to see his father smiling, proud for the first time that Sam could remember.

Gabriel had trouble suppressing a smile at the warm greetings. _Good boy_, he thought fondly. He was glad that Sam would have a better life from now on. But it saddened him that neither the boy, nor his family, would remember this escapade. If they ever met again in the future, it would be as strangers.

When they left, Sam thought he felt something soft caress his cheek—soft like feathers. But nah, he would have imagined that. He did notice that he wasn't feeling guilty at all. As if he hadn't done anything wrong.

He looked up into the night, his whisper quiet. "Thank you, Loki."


End file.
